


Street Fights Always Get the Girl

by fishingclocks



Category: Fullmetal Alchemist (Anime 2003), Fullmetal Alchemist - All Media Types
Genre: F/F, Fluff, Mild Language, mild violence, post-Conqueror of Shamballa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-30
Updated: 2016-10-30
Packaged: 2018-08-27 20:33:21
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,403
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8415751
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fishingclocks/pseuds/fishingclocks
Summary: Either way, it’s clear that he started it, and Paninya makes it clear that she’ll be the one finishing it. With her fists. And maybe a metal foot or two.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [likeadeuce](https://archiveofourown.org/users/likeadeuce/gifts).



The fight starts with a punch to Paninya’s face. Or maybe when that slimy bastard running a nuts and bolts booth out in the square shouts “Hey, stop! Thief!” and starts slicing his way through the crowd with his gangly arms. Either way, it’s clear that _he_ started it, and Paninya makes it clear that she’ll be the one finishing it. With her fists. And maybe a foot or two.

She’s walking through the square, clutching at the money Winry slugged at her fifteen minutes earlier with strict orders to “ _Don’t come back til you’ve got some damn spring-loaded hinges, and if Maurice’s been lying to me, tell him to kiss my_ ass _!”_ Halfway there, though, some random asshole had decided to stir up trouble, and. Well.

Point being, when Paninya _won’t_ turn around, _won’t_ look the asshole in the eye even as he makes clumsy grabs for her pockets, he punches her, and Paninya punches back.

-

Afterward, Paninya nearly forgets about the entire decbacle. Not in some wishy-washy, ‘ _I’m sure he didn’t mean it_ ’ kind of way—she sure as hell isn’t letting that little jerk off the hook—truth is, the incident isn’t exactly isolated. Hell, her first instinct when the guy yelled “Stop, thief!” was to freeze and think _God not again_.

Paninya’s left that _behind_ her—petty theft isn’t something she needs to resort to anymore, financially or otherwise. Winry has her store now; Paninya’s a real _employee_ now. She’s _made_ the life that she has, and any entitled prick who has a problem with it can answer to her cold, shiny fists.

Which means… Paninya ends up in more street fights than Winry has wrenches and grief issues. It’s fair to say that the scuffs she got from that tussle? All in all, forgettable.

Until, that is, Paninya gets back to the shop.

-

Paninya’s pretty proud of her haul. Fifteen of the hinges Winry’d asked for, at only _half_ the cost she told her they’d be. She’s carrying them all— _carefully_ —in her arms, because apparently mechanics are against cloth of any sort unless it’s in the form of an apron or gloves—and god _forbid_ she ask for a paper bag.

So she lopes down the alley to the back entrance of Win’s shop, compulsively counting the pieces of fragile metal in her arms, when she hears an ear-splitting _CLANG_ from the garage—followed by a string of Winry’s farmtown curses that’re somehow more graphic, and yet rib-crushingly _charming_. Paninya knows that if she ever _voiced_ that thought she would sound whipped to _hell_. Probably why she never voices them. Ever. _Ever_.

The fact remains, however, that something either just went really wrong or really right, so Paninya _books it_ into the garage, precarious feats of engineering balanced in her arms notwithstanding.

“Win?” she calls, trying not to break out into a panic. The garage’s door is shoved open for the day, automail parts are strewn about in a fashion that seems disorganized to anyone but Winry, and— _Oh shit oh shit that’s a fire that’s on fire_

“ _Smother it!_ ” Winry shrieks from somewhere in Paninya’s peripheral—on the floor? What?

In the end, the remains of the prototype Winry’s been working on gets chucked out—again, _carefully_ —into the alley, and left to burn itself out.

Paninya stands in the entrance to the garage, a safe distance from the burning automail, and whistles. “Shit…”

“I can’t believe that happened,” Winry sighs mournfully, even though she sets something on fire almost every week like it’s a religion.

If Paninya didn’t know Win better, she might actually be concerned…

At least she’s standing now. Being off the floor is certainly progress.

“Two days I spent on that thing…” Winry sniffs—not so much in sadness as disdain. The hunk of metal’s spontaneous combustion is obviously a betrayal of Winry’s flawless, impeccable work. She’s even flicking her hair at the damn thing.

Paninya is in so deep for this girl. It’s stopped being fluttery and fluffy and moved towards painful and absolutely, utterly hopeless.

“Man, I’m sorry Win,” she says, lamely, because she needs to say _something_. “I… um, brought you those hinges you asked for—“

“You did?” Prototype forgotten, Winry leaps at her, eyes sparkling—Paninya has to _fight_ not to drop them all.

“Where did you _find_ them? Are they from Maurice? Because _he_ told me that he didn’t…” Practically _in her arms holy shit_ , Winry trails off from emphatically examining each and every hinge, and Paninya nearly panics _again_ , because she was definitely not paying enough attention to tell why—

“Pan?” says Winry, slowly.

“Yeah?” Paninya replies (squeaks).

“Did you get in another fight today?” Winry’s pale fingers track feather-light across a tiny scratch on Paninya’s collarbone, leaving behind pain so faint they’re nearly inconsequential, and a blush that’s spreading so fast Paninya can feel the heat _oh god._

Attractively, she says “Uh,” and then “I kicked his ass.” She’s then tempted to drop everything, hinges be damned, and walk straight off a building.

This draws a _laugh_ from Winry, light and snorty, so at least she isn’t _mad_. Not that Win ever has been. Worried, sure. Forceful, always. But she hasn’t ever been angry, and she hasn’t ever been cruel.

Even still, something seems just the tiniest bit—different, today. There’s something at the corner of Winry’s eye, something _calculating_ , so that when she says “I’m gonna have to look you over,” Paninya and her coward heart immediately start backing away.

“I really did kick his ass, Win, he barely got me at _all_.”

“Pan.”

“You shoulda seen that guy after, I mean, hah—“

“Sit.”

Paninya sits.

Winry is gone for just a few seconds—at this point, their first aid is easier to find than their _food_ —and when she’s back she settles down next to Paninya.

She really, honestly, doesn’t need it. That bastard’d had _no_ business starting a fight; she’s come out basically unscathed. But Winry won’t be talked down.

Her hands and eyes brush analytically over her left arm, checking the automail for… something?

“I’m fine, Win,” Paninya says, gently.

“Uh huh,” Winry says, ignoring her.

Her gaze now moves to the right arm.

“Not quite sure what you’re gonna find.”

“Yup.”

Light touches head north to actual skin—Winry hovers over a nick that the idiot made to her forehead that looks like it might hurt but stopped as soon as he _made_ it, and Paninya is frankly _terrified_. She’s just _sure_ that Winry can hear the frantic _THUMP_ ing of her heartbeat.

Winry’s hands on her face, their eyes meet; and Paninya is left breathless by the mere proximity.

“I’m fine,” she murmurs, the words having all but lost their meaning by now.

Winry says “I know.”

“Just takin’ the opportunity to feel me up, then, huh?” Paninya responds without thinking, and _immediately_ regrets it, how transparent can one dumbass _be?_ She was just concerned, but no, Paninya had to go and make her uncomfortable and now—

“Yeah.”

Paninya’s entire consciousness takes a couple seconds to reboot. Breath shaky, her eyes meet Winry’s—she’s blushing so cutely, how can one girl be so _cute_ —and Winry says “Yeah, I was… mostly feeling you up,” an slowly, _achingly_ , slots her lips against Paninya’s.

It’s chaste, but _shattering_ , and when Winry pulls away, Paninya takes a sharp, unsteady breath.

“You..?” Paninya finally finds herself capable of _moving_ ; she gently, projecting every move she makes with trembling, clacking metal hands, lands a reverent touch to Winry’s cheek, the other hand coming to rest on the crook of her shoulder, and wishes she could _feel_ —

“You want that?” Paninya breathes.

“Pan,” Winry huffs, “I’ve been patching you up for a year and a half now. Why do you think I never complained?”

“Oh.” Paninya says. “O- _oh._ ”

She’s sure Winry notices her growing, cheek-splitting _grin_ , because she makes an exasperated noise and says “Kiss me,” in a tone of voice that brooks no argument.

Unable to keep the laughter from her voice, Paninya says “’Course, boss,” and pulls her in. The sun is setting, coating the sky in pastels and shades of red, but mostly just a dull gray; in the fading light Paninya _kisses_ her, and _touches_ her, and until she finally kicks it, Paninya will always remember phantom touches, smouldering metal just a few feet away, and that stupid, _goddamn_ fight.

**Author's Note:**

> <3


End file.
